Death of the Gods

The gentle warmth of the sun filtered through the sparse leaves of the trees, casting lazy shadows over the rolling field. The sweet, earthy scent of freshly bloomed flowers lingered in the air, as if the earth itself were exhaling in relief after the arrival of summer. The rustling of petals in the breeze was so delicate it felt more like a whisper—almost an invitation to remember...

He closed his eyes and let the memory take shape.

The recollection was vivid—almost painful. He could see the woman and the man standing before him, silhouetted at the top of that hill, bathed in the golden light of sunset. They smiled. Not just a casual smile, but something deeper—a smile that carried promises, hopes, and perhaps even a silent farewell.

"Do you believe in a God who loves us all unconditionally?"

The question echoed in his mind like a distant bell. He remembered the tone—curious but gentle, as if the answer was already known and they only wanted to hear it spoken aloud.

He had hesitated back then. Not because of the question itself, but because of the weight it carried. His hands, still stained by a past he wished he could forget, seemed to tremble even in that daydream. A God who loves without limits? Without judgment? He wanted to believe, but something inside him screamed that it was nothing more than a comforting lie.

He had finally answered, his voice almost lost to the wind.

"No."

It wasn't a cold no, nor one filled with anger. It was a quiet no—almost resigned. A monster like him could never be loved by something so pure, so perfect. It wasn't a matter of faith, or lack thereof. It was a matter of worth.

The two said nothing. They simply kept looking toward the horizon, as if the world before them might offer some kind of answer. The sun dipped lower, painting the skies in shades of orange and crimson, and for that brief moment, he felt as if time had stopped.

But time never stops.

BEEP!

The sharp sound of a whistle pierced through the darkness surrounding Rodrigo. At first, it came as a distant echo, almost as if trapped in a dream, but it quickly intensified, bringing with it the muffled murmur of voices and the hurried shuffle of footsteps.

He frowned, his mind still clouded, while an uncomfortable sensation of unease spread through his body. The warmth of the sheets against his skin contrasted with the metallic chill that seemed to radiate from the floor beside him. A second whistle rang out, closer this time, yanking him out of his stupor.

His eyes opened slowly, only to be assaulted by a harsh, white light that seemed to come from all directions—especially the ceiling. He winced, raising a hand instinctively to shield himself from the blinding glare. The quick, defensive motion was enough to jolt his senses awake, making his heart pound faster.

Breathing heavily, Rodrigo felt the cold sweat on his forehead and neck. He sat up abruptly, the white sheets sliding off his body and revealing a thin hospital gown made of coarse fabric that scratched against his skin.

Finally, he lowered his hand, blinking several times until his vision began to adjust. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling—cold, white tiles arranged in a uniform pattern, with flickering fluorescent lights embedded in them, as if they were on the verge of burning out.

Rodrigo lowered his gaze and scanned the room around him. The walls were equally white but worn, with faint yellowish stains in the corners and thin cracks snaking upward toward the ceiling. Beside the bed, there was an IV stand with an empty plastic bag hanging from it and a metal chair pushed against the wall near the partially open door.

He noticed a pale blue curtain in the far-left corner, partially drawn, revealing another empty bed. Further back, there was a stainless steel sink with a faucet stained by watermarks and a shelf filled with medicine bottles, bandages, and syringes, all arranged in an almost obsessive order.

The sound of hurried footsteps grew louder again, accompanied by muffled voices in the hallway. Urgent conversations mixed with the electronic hum of medical equipment. Rodrigo's chest tightened.

"Where the hell am I?" he murmured, his voice rough and weak, as if he hadn't spoken in days.

He tried to stand, but his legs wobbled the moment they touched the cold floor. His hands gripped the edge of the bed for support, and that's when he noticed the red marks around his wrists, as if something had pressed tightly against them.

Panic began to rise in his throat, but he forced it back down, breathing deeply.

It was a hospital. He had to remind himself of that. Everything pointed to him being in a hospital. But how had he ended up there? And why couldn't he remember?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull up any recent memory, but all he got was a blur. A blue light… and then nothing.

The door creaked as it opened a bit more, and Rodrigo turned quickly, his stomach twisting. He waited for someone to step inside, but the empty hallway stared back at him, bathed in cold, impersonal light.

Taking another deep breath, he took his first step toward the door, determined to find answers—even if he had to tear them out by force.

Rodrigo reached for the cold metal doorknob, feeling its icy surface against his fingers. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. Just as his fingers began to turn the handle, a sudden movement on the other side made him freeze.

The door creaked open slightly before he could pull it, and a figure appeared in the doorway. Rodrigo instinctively stepped back, his body tense and alert.

The man standing before him was old, perhaps in his sixties, with unkempt graying hair and stubble shadowing his jaw. His brown eyes, hidden behind rectangular glasses, held a tired but unmistakably surprised glint. He wore a slightly wrinkled white coat over light-blue scrubs—the kind doctors usually wore. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and he carried a clipboard with papers held together by a rusty clip.

"Ah!" the man exclaimed, his eyes widening for a moment before he took a step into the room. "You… you're finally awake!"

Rodrigo blinked several times, struggling to process the man's words. His body tensed even more, the instinct to protect himself roaring to life.

"Who are you?" Rodrigo's voice came out steadier than he expected, but there was an undeniable edge of distrust. "Where am I?"

The doctor raised his hands in a calming gesture, as though soothing a frightened animal.

"Relax, relax. I'm Dr. Elias. I've been in charge of your care since you were brought here." He took a step closer but kept a respectful distance. "You're in a hospital. You're safe."

Rodrigo felt his stomach twist at those words. A hospital. He knew he was in one, but why did it still feel so wrong?

"Since I was brought here?" Rodrigo repeated, frowning. "How long have I been here?"

The doctor hesitated briefly, as if weighing his words before answering.

"Five days."

The answer hit like a punch to the gut. Rodrigo felt his legs tremble slightly, and he instinctively leaned against the wall to steady himself.

"Five days?" he repeated, his voice lower, almost a whisper. "How... how is that possible? What happened to me?"

The doctor sighed, adjusting his glasses on his face.

"That's a question I was hoping you could answer." He flipped through a few papers on his clipboard before continuing. "You were found unconscious in a field—no ID, no visible injuries except for some minor bruises around your wrists and ankles. No signs of serious trauma. We ran every test we could, but..." He paused, looking directly at Rodrigo. "Physically, you were perfectly healthy."

A chill ran down Rodrigo's spine. A field? He struggled to recall anything, but all he found was an agonizing void. Then, suddenly, flashes began to surface—a blue light, a woman with red eyes and golden hair, and that mysterious voice.

But before he could latch onto any of it, the doctor went on:

"Your vitals were stable, but you wouldn't wake up. It was like you were... in a deep sleep, with no medical explanation." He took a step closer, observing Rodrigo carefully. "And now, you wake up just like that—without warning."

Rodrigo closed his eyes for a moment, his head pounding. None of it made sense.

"I..." He began, but the words caught in his throat. The doctor's expectant gaze pressed him to say something, but Rodrigo didn't know what. He didn't know if he could.

Dr. Elias waited a few seconds before speaking again, his tone softer this time.

"I know this must be confusing, but it's okay. You're safe now." He glanced at his watch. "I need to call the staff for a few more tests and contact the authorities to help identify any family or acquaintances who might know you."

Rodrigo's eyes widened.

"Authorities?"

"Don't worry—it's just standard procedure. No one here is against you, kid. We just want to help."

But Rodrigo couldn't shake the feeling that something about this was wrong. His body still trembled, and the heat building in his chest felt almost suffocating. He needed answers—and fast.

Dr. Elias reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pair of glasses, handing them to Rodrigo with a calm gesture. The frames were thin and metallic, polished enough to reflect the room's sterile white light.

"These were found with you," the doctor said, lightly dangling the glasses before offering them. "One of the few belongings we managed to recover."

Rodrigo took the glasses hesitantly. The cold metal against his fingers sent a shiver down his spine. They looked far too sophisticated to belong to him—or at least to the version of himself he remembered.

Before he could ask anything else, the doctor frowned as if something had just occurred to him.

"I still don't get it," Elias murmured thoughtfully. "A young Japanese guy... wearing a Japanese school uniform... alone in the middle of a remote field, in the dead of night. And here in South Korea. What the hell were you doing there?"

Rodrigo froze.

"What?" His voice came out weak, loaded with disbelief.

"You heard me." Elias looked straight at him, adjusting his own glasses. "We're in South Korea, kid. Specifically, a small town in the countryside. And you showed up like you fell out of the sky, dressed like a Japanese high school student."

Rodrigo blinked, his heartbeat racing. He took a step back, nearly stumbling against the IV stand beside the bed.

"South Korea?" He shook his head, as if doing so would erase what he'd just heard. "No, no... that's impossible."

The doctor crossed his arms, studying him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Impossible?"

Rodrigo raised his hands, as if trying to explain himself.

"I'm not Japanese!" he said firmly, almost shouting. "My skin is tan! My eyes are Western! I'm Brazilian! My parents don't have any Asian features—none at all! I... I live in Brazil!"

The heavy silence that followed felt suffocating.

Dr. Elias tilted his head, as if processing Rodrigo's words. After a moment, he let out a soft sigh and even smiled a little.

"You're Brazilian?" He chuckled lightly, but not in a mocking way—it felt more like someone recognizing something familiar. "Well, that makes two of us."

Rodrigo's eyes widened.

"You're Brazilian too?"

"Yep." The doctor nodded, adjusting his glasses again. "I came here years ago for medical opportunities. And before you ask—yes, my Portuguese is still sharp."

For a moment, Rodrigo felt a flicker of relief. But before he could cling to it, the doctor continued:

"Honestly, it's not that hard to believe you're Brazilian too." Elias gestured vaguely with his hands. "Brazil's a melting pot—mixes of cultures and ethnicities. It wouldn't be surprising if a Brazilian had Asian features."

"But I don't!" Rodrigo snapped, clenching his fists. "I just told you! I'm not light-skinned, and I don't have slanted eyes!"

Elias paused, examining him again—this time with a more serious expression.

"That's the thing, kid." He narrowed his eyes. "If you were tan, with Western features, your story might make sense." He crossed his arms again. "But looking at you now... you're definitely not tan. Your skin is pale. Your features... delicate. And your eyes? They don't even look natural. They're too light—almost the color of a clear sky. If I hadn't found you myself, I'd think you were a Japanese model or something."

Rodrigo froze.

He ran to the mirror in the corner of the room, nearly knocking over the chair beside him. When his eyes met the reflection, all he felt was a sharp, chilling sensation coursing through his body.

The face in the mirror was his... but it wasn't.

Dark hair with faint blue highlights. Golden eyes that gleamed, almost hypnotic. Pale, flawless skin without a single blemish. The features were so refined they seemed unreal.

Rodrigo raised his hands to his face, touching his cheeks as if expecting to feel something different—something to convince him that this was all just a dream.

"No..." he muttered. "This isn't me..."

Elias remained calm, but Rodrigo caught the worried look the doctor gave him through the mirror's reflection.

"You need to rest, kid." His voice was softer now. "Whatever happened to you, it seems to have been traumatic. We'll figure this out together, but first, you need to calm down."

Rodrigo, however, knew that no amount of rest could answer the questions tormenting his mind. Something was wrong—with him, with this place, and with everything around him.

And he needed to find out what it was.

He let out a heavy sigh, trying to steady his breathing as his hands hurriedly slid down the sides of his blue pants, searching the pockets. His heart pounded, adrenaline surging as he looked for something—anything—that could prove who he really was. Something to anchor him to his identity.

His fingers brushed over the smooth fabric, pressing against the seams, but the pockets were empty.

He froze for a moment, taking a deep breath before patting each side of his pants again, this time more forcefully, almost as if trying to will whatever he sought into existence.

"N-no... This can't be..." he murmured, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his face. "My phone... Where's my phone?!"

Rodrigo looked up at Dr. Elias, his expression desperate.

"You didn't have a phone on you when we found you," Elias said, arms crossed and voice steady. "Only these glasses and the uniform you were wearing."

Rodrigo clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him. He took a step back, trying to reorganize his thoughts. It still felt like a nightmare. He needed to find some logic in all this.

Then something hit him like a punch to the gut.

He froze, staring at Elias.

"Wait..." His voice dropped, filled with doubt. "What language are we speaking right now?"

The question made the doctor frown.

"What do you mean?" Elias tilted his head slightly.

Rodrigo squinted, analyzing every word Elias had spoken. There was no strange accent. Nothing sounded artificial. The words flowed naturally, but still...

"What you just said... I understood it perfectly." Rodrigo gestured with his hands, as if trying to grasp the words in the air. "But it doesn't make sense! I was speaking Portuguese before! And you said we're in South Korea, right?"

"That's right." Elias nodded.

"Then... what language are we speaking right now?" Rodrigo demanded, his voice rising.

The doctor hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Korean."

Rodrigo froze.

He blinked a few times, waiting for Elias to laugh or admit it was a joke. But the doctor's expression remained serious.

"No." Rodrigo shook his head, laughing nervously. "No, that's impossible. I don't speak Korean! I've never learned this language! I don't even know what it's supposed to sound like!"

"But you're speaking it now," Elias replied, his tone firm. "And, from the looks of it, you understand everything I'm saying."

Rodrigo opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he just stared at Elias, hoping the doctor would suddenly tell him this was all some elaborate prank.

But Elias's gaze remained steady, serious, and, in a way... concerned.

"I'm not lying to you, kid." Elias adjusted his glasses again, as if buying himself time to find the right words. "You're speaking Korean as naturally as I am. Maybe even better."

Rodrigo felt a chill run down his spine. He took a step back, as if the doctor's words had become something physical, pushing him away.

"No..." he whispered. "That can't be."

But deep down, a part of him knew the doctor wasn't lying. He could feel it. The words flowed through his mind as if they had always been there. There was no strangeness, no effort to translate. It was as natural as breathing.

Rodrigo raised a hand to his throat, as if expecting to find something different there—some physical change to explain what was happening.

Nothing.

"This isn't normal." Rodrigo swallowed hard. "I... I'm not like this. I'm not the guy in the mirror. I don't speak Korean. I..."

He stopped and looked back at Elias, searching for something in the doctor's eyes.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Elias let out a sigh and uncrossed his arms.

"I'm not making any assumptions yet." He took a step closer. "But what I do think is that you're scared. And for good reason."

Rodrigo looked away, gripping the glasses tightly in his hands.

"I need answers..."

"And we'll find them," Elias assured him. "But first, we need to figure out what happened to you. This..." He gestured around the room. "Is only the beginning."

Rodrigo felt a crushing weight settle over him. Something was deeply wrong. And, as much as the doctor seemed willing to help, Rodrigo knew he couldn't blindly trust anyone.

Especially not now, when even his own identity felt shattered.

"I'll be back in a moment, kid. Just wait here." Dr. Elias's voice broke the silence as he left the room.

Rodrigo stood there for a moment after the doctor's footsteps faded down the hallway, swallowed by silence.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the empty room pressing down on him. His eyes drifted to the window, where his ghostly reflection began to take shape. Hesitant, he stepped closer.

The bright white light from the ceiling made his image stand out sharply against the glass, casting a clear outline. Rodrigo swallowed hard before locking eyes with the reflection.

What he saw left him speechless.

The boy staring back at him looked like he had stepped out of a high school anime. Black hair, cut neatly, fell lightly over his forehead. The round glasses rested perfectly on his fine and unnervingly refined features. His pale skin was flawless, like porcelain.

He raised a trembling hand, touching the glass, and the reflection mirrored the movement. His eyes traced down to the navy-blue uniform—a typical gakuran worn by Japanese students, tailored as if made just for him.

"This isn't me..." he whispered, but the voice that echoed back was clear and familiar—yet carried a softness he didn't recognize.

He touched his own face, letting his fingers glide over the smooth, flawless skin.

— What the hell happened to me?

His eyes continued examining every detail, from the spotless black-and-white shoes to the way the uniform's fabric folded over his slim but well-proportioned body.

It was as if he were trapped in a body that had never been his.

Rodrigo gripped his glasses nervously, leaning closer to the glass.

— This isn't real... — He forced the words out, trying to convince himself, but the unfamiliar face stared back, unblinking.

His fists clenched at his sides, heat rising in his chest—a mix of frustration and desperation.

— This has to be a dream...

But deep down, he knew it wasn't.

His breathing quickened as he took a step back, putting distance between himself and the glass, as if the reflection might leap out at him. He tried to think rationally, but his mind was a whirlwind.

If only he had his phone... something to connect him to his old life. But there was nothing.

Rodrigo sank slowly onto the edge of the medical bed, feeling the faint creak of the mattress under his weight. His hands rested on his knees as his eyes wandered to the immaculately white ceiling, as though it might hold some answers. The harsh fluorescent light pierced his vision, but he didn't care. His mind was too far away from that sterile room.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to pull up the last memories before waking up there.

A blue light...

It flashed in his mind like lightning, scattering his thoughts. The image surfaced almost like a distant dream, yet it was too vivid to dismiss as an illusion.

That woman...

Rodrigo squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to recall the details. Her golden hair danced like threads of silk under an ethereal glow. Her crimson eyes pierced through him—not with hostility, but with devotion. There was something about her, a latent power behind that overwhelming beauty. He felt his chest tighten as he remembered her delicate touch against his face.

"Who was she?"

The thought slipped out as a whisper, filling the empty room. Then another memory struck him like a blow.

Arcueid Brunestud.

The connection was almost immediate. Rodrigo shook his head, frowning. He found himself comparing that woman to the iconic vampire from the Tsukihime franchise—golden hair, red eyes, and an imposing presence. But... it couldn't be.

— No, impossible... — he muttered.

Servants, beasts, and even Mooncancer? He almost laughed, but the sound died before it could escape his throat. As much as his mind screamed that it was all fiction, a part of him clung to the possibility.

Rodrigo had always dreamed of seeing something like this. Worlds where legends came to life, where gods and heroes waged epic battles, where the impossible became reality. He grew up reading stories, playing games, and watching anime that fed these fantasies. But this...

This wasn't a game.

He stared at his hands, turning them over slowly, half-expecting to see some magical symbol or strange mark etched into his skin. Nothing. Just smooth, flawless flesh on a body that still felt foreign.

— What if...? — Rodrigo hesitated, afraid to finish the thought.

What if his creations were alive?

What if the characters he imagined, molded, and idealized in his stories truly existed? How would they see him?

As their master.

Rodrigo shivered. He had always imagined himself as the ideal commander—someone who would lead powerful beings with determination and courage. But now, sitting on that bed, he felt small. Fragile.

— Would they see me as a god? — he murmured, but the word felt bitter on his tongue.

He knew he wasn't worthy of such a title. He didn't even know where he was or how he had ended up there. And if that woman truly existed, then what else could exist?

A world of monsters? Gods?

Or perhaps... something worse?

Rodrigo clenched his fists, feeling a slight tremor in his hands. He needed answers. He needed to understand what was happening before reality swallowed him whole.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders rising and falling with the motion. Lowering his head, his eyes drifted back to his hands. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed how slender and well-kept his fingers were, the skin pale and unblemished. It was strange. Too strange.

His gaze shifted back to the reflection in the window. He studied every detail of the face staring back at him—the slightly messy black hair, the rounded glasses that seemed both delicate and intellectual. It was a look that screamed familiarity.

— Shiki Tohno... — he whispered, as if testing the sound of the name.

The connection was so immediate that Rodrigo felt a chill. He knew that face. He had seen it countless times in visual novels and Tsukihime adaptations. Those piercing eyes behind thin lenses, the school uniform that seemed simple but carried an air of distinction. The resemblance was almost frightening.

He pressed his hands against his forehead, covering his eyes for a moment.

— This doesn't make any sense... — he whispered.

Memories bubbled to the surface. Before responsibilities had crushed his routine, before work and expectations had weighed him down, Rodrigo had been different. A lover of stories and fictional worlds. He had spent hours immersed in visual novels, letting himself be swept away by complex plots and unforgettable characters.

Aozaki Aoko.

The name flashed through his mind—a powerful red-haired mage who could bend the world's laws with true magic. He remembered the impact she had made the first time she appeared on screen.

Shiki Ryougi.

Another image formed—a woman with an almost supernatural presence, her eyes capable of cutting through existence itself. Rodrigo had always admired the depth of these characters—their struggles against predestined fates, against their own humanity, and the monsters lurking in the shadows.

And now, here he was... with a face that wasn't his own.

He let out a short, hollow laugh. A sound devoid of humor, filled instead with disbelief and despair.

— I'm pathetic... — he muttered.

Rodrigo let the weight of his words sink into his chest. He really was a fool, wasn't he? An adult who spent more time obsessing over fictional characters than facing his own life. He had created worlds in his imagination, dreamed of alternate realities where he could be someone else—someone important.

But now...

Now he was here.

In a body that resembled one of the characters he admired. In a place he didn't recognize, surrounded by mysteries and too many missing pieces.

Rodrigo ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more, as if that would clear the chaos in his head.

He looked at the reflection again, staring as if it might finally give him some answers.

— This isn't fiction... — he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself. — This is real.

The words echoed through the empty room, but they didn't bring comfort. Only more questions.

Rodrigo closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts. He couldn't let himself spiral into self-pity. Not now. He needed to understand what had happened and why he was there.

But deep down, a voice whispered in his mind.

What if this was the dream he had always wished for?

Rodrigo sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined as he stared at the sterile, polished floor of the room. The cold light from the hospital reflected softly, casting a pale, oppressive glow. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling his chest tighten as the reality settled in.

A second chance...

The thought hung in his mind like a dense fog. Is that what this meant? He had been ripped from his old life, transported to an unknown place, with a different body and an appearance he never imagined he'd have. But should he really view this as a new opportunity?

Rodrigo rubbed his face with his hands, trying to shake off the tension that consumed him. Back in Brazil, there was nothing waiting for him. Debts that seemed to grow, no matter how hard he worked. Daily demands, threatening phone calls. Late rent. Overdue bills. He had long given up counting the nights he spent sleeping on the old, torn sofa because the bed was covered in bills he pretended not to see.

Family? He laughed, but the sound was hollow, broken.

The only person he could remotely consider "family" was his older brother. But Rodrigo avoided thinking about him. Always avoided it. Any memory that tried to surface was quickly smothered, buried before it could take form.

His chest tightened, and he suddenly stood up, pacing the small room. His breathing quickened. He didn't want to remember the last time he saw him. Not the look he received that day.

And then there were those people.

Rodrigo stopped, pressing his hands against the wall and staring at the faint reflection in the window. He didn't want to think about them. About those empty faces, cold smiles, eyes that promised things no one should be able to deliver. He knew who he had gotten involved with. He knew the kind of people you never wanted to mess with.

Rodrigo closed his eyes, feeling the cold sweat trickle down his temple. This wasn't a normal situation. It wasn't something he could just dodge or solve with some lame excuse. He knew that sooner or later, they would have come after him.

Maybe... maybe this world was some kind of escape.

He slowly opened his eyes, staring at the figure reflected in the glass. That new face. Young. Without marks, without deep dark circles. He looked like someone... different. Someone who could be someone else.

But did he deserve this?

Rodrigo let out a heavy sigh, sitting back down on the bed. He knew the answer. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, the feeling of guilt clung to him like invisible chains. He had run away. Run from his old world. From his mistakes. From the broken promises.

And deep down, maybe he knew this wasn't really a second chance.

It was just another form of escape.

Rodrigo leaned back on the bed, staring at the white, flawless ceiling. The lights flickered faintly, and the distant sound of voices echoed down the hallway.

"This can't be real..." he murmured, almost to himself.

But at that moment, he couldn't say for sure what was real and what wasn't.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Time passed, but Rodrigo had no idea how much. The silence in the room was only broken by the distant ticking of a clock in the hallway and the low hum of the fluorescent lights above him. He remained lying on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the white ceiling as if waiting for it to provide some answer to all the questions swirling in his mind.

When the sound of the door creaking echoed through the room, Rodrigo didn't bother to move or look away. He knew it was Dr. Elias. The slow, deliberate footsteps on the sterile floor had already become familiar.

The doctor stopped by the bed and remained silent for a few seconds, observing Rodrigo. He seemed to be evaluating the young man's condition before finally clearing his throat to get his attention.

"Rodrigo." Elias's voice broke the silence, but it wasn't harsh; it was calm, almost paternal.

Rodrigo blinked slowly before turning his head to look at the doctor.

"What now?" he murmured, his voice heavy with weariness.

Elias didn't respond immediately. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed, holding something in his hands. Rodrigo only realized what it was when Elias extended it toward him—a landline phone.

The device had an outdated design, with a small screen and physical buttons. It looked like something from an era before smartphones dominated the market. Rodrigo sat up, taking the phone with a confused expression.

"What is this?" he asked, turning the device in his hands.

"A temporary phone," Elias crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. "I thought you might need something to communicate with until we can sort things out with the authorities."

Rodrigo pressed the power button, and the screen flickered, showing a basic system with no modern apps or advanced features. He let out a quiet sigh, as if the weight of the situation continued to build.

"I thought you might want to try reaching out to someone... maybe remember something," Elias continued, watching Rodrigo's reaction. "Although, honestly, I'm not sure how you expect to prove anything with just this."

Rodrigo lifted his eyes to the doctor, narrowing them.

"And how do you expect me to do that, Elias?" His voice carried a sarcastic tone. "If I'm really in what looks like South Korea, speaking a language I shouldn't even know, how am I supposed to call anyone?"

Elias shrugged.

"It's just a tool. Maybe it won't solve everything, but it's a start." He stood up, moving back to stand in front of Rodrigo. "Anyway, I also need to know if you're willing to cooperate with the investigation into how you ended up here."

Rodrigo looked away, staring at the phone again.

"Investigation..." he murmured. He gripped the device in his hands, as if trying to absorb the weight of that word.

"Yes." Elias moved to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly to let natural light illuminate part of the room. "People like you, who show up with no documents or records, tend to raise some red flags. Especially since no one has reported your disappearance here."

Rodrigo felt a chill run down his spine. No one had missed him. No one had reported him missing.

"So, what do you think I am? A criminal?" Rodrigo raised an eyebrow.

Elias chuckled softly.

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying that, until we know more, you need to be careful. And, honestly, I need to be too."

Rodrigo didn't respond. He simply kept staring at the phone, as if that small piece of technology could magically provide answers.

"I'll leave you to think for a while." Elias gave Rodrigo's shoulder a light pat before turning to leave. "But please, try to keep your head on straight. You might have lost some of your memories or be confused, but that doesn't mean you're alone in this."

When the door closed behind the doctor, Rodrigo remained sitting, holding the phone tightly. The screen went dark, reflecting his face—that new face that still felt strange to him.

And in that moment, Rodrigo realized that, no matter how much he wanted to run, he needed to face this situation. He needed to uncover the truth. Because deep down, an uncomfortable feeling told him that the worst was yet to come.

Time Skip

Night had fully fallen, and the artificial light from the white lamps in the hospital room cast soft shadows on the walls. Rodrigo lay still in bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, though he wasn't really seeing it. He wasn't thinking about anything specific—his mind was like a calm, dark lake, without ripples or movement. Just existing.

The soft hum of the fan in the corner of the room was the only sound until footsteps echoed from the hallway, breaking the silence and pulling Rodrigo out of the void. He didn't move immediately, but his muscles tensed, sensing that something was about to happen.

The door creaked open slowly, and Dr. Elias entered first, followed closely by two men in police uniforms. They wore dark coats, their badges gleaming under the light. One had a serious demeanor, with deep lines marking his face, suggesting he had been on the force for years. The other looked younger but held himself rigid, as if trying to make up for his lack of experience with discipline.

Rodrigo slowly sat up, his expression cautious as his eyes shifted from Elias to the police officers.

"Good evening, Rodrigo," Elias began, his voice more formal than usual. "I know you probably want to rest, but..."

Before he could finish, the older officer stepped forward, interrupting him.

"We need you to come with us to the station." His voice was firm and authoritative, with a heavy accent, but the Korean was clear enough for Rodrigo to understand perfectly.

Rodrigo furrowed his brow, feeling his stomach twist.

"Station?" He slowly stood from the bed, his eyes flicking from Elias to the officer. "Why? I haven't done anything."

The younger officer took a small step forward, adjusting his belt with gloved hands.

"We need to clarify a few things about how you ended up here and verify your identity," his voice was softer than his colleague's, but still firm. "It's just a procedure."

Rodrigo scoffed, frustration rising.

"I've already told you everything I know. I woke up in this place! Do you think I'm lying?"

The older officer crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Rodrigo.

"We're not here to argue, kid. We're just following orders. If you've got nothing to hide, then come with us and make this easier."

Elias tried to intervene, placing a hand on the younger officer's shoulder.

"Please, let's all stay calm. Rodrigo is still recovering, and—"

"I'm fine," Rodrigo interrupted, taking a deep breath. He knew that resisting or causing trouble would only make things worse. "Just... give me a minute to grab my things."

The older officer nodded but kept his gaze fixed on Rodrigo, as if waiting for any sign of resistance.

Rodrigo grabbed the old phone Elias had given him and shoved it into his pants pocket. As useless as it seemed, it was the only thing remotely resembling a link to reality at that moment. He ran his hand through his messy hair, feeling the cold sweat on the back of his neck.

Before leaving, he took one last glance at his faint reflection in the window. The eyes staring back at him didn't seem like his own. They belonged to someone else—someone he still didn't quite know.

With a heavy sigh, he walked to the door, where the officers were already waiting. Elias threw him a brief look, as if wanting to apologize, but didn't say anything. Rodrigo didn't know whether to feel grateful or betrayed.

As he stepped through the door, the sensation that he was walking into the unknown grew stronger. The hallway seemed longer than before, and each step echoed like the ticking of an invisible clock marking time.

Rodrigo didn't know what awaited him at the station, but one thing was certain—that wasn't the end. In fact, he felt it was only the beginning of something much bigger... and far more dangerous.

Rodrigo's footsteps echoed down the narrow, lit corridor, following the two Korean officers ahead of him. The air carried a faint scent of hospital disinfectant mixed with the metallic odor of steel doors and medical equipment. The sound of the officers' heavy shoes broke the silence, and Rodrigo could hear the rustling of his own, lighter steps, almost hesitant.

The two men exchanged brief words, their voices low and serious. Rodrigo couldn't catch everything, but he picked up a few scattered phrases—"incomplete report," "uncertain origin," and "missing documents." It was enough to make him feel even more uneasy. He didn't like the feeling of being analyzed like some incomplete puzzle.

When they finally left the hospital, the night breeze touched Rodrigo's face, bringing with it a damp smell of earth and vegetation. The temperature had dropped, and the wind carried a faint hum as it passed through the nearby trees. The hospital behind him looked even more isolated under the dark, clear sky, where only a few stars twinkled.

Rodrigo briefly turned his head and saw Dr. Elias standing at the entrance, arms crossed and a worried expression on his face. The hospital lights cast a soft glow on his tired face, highlighting the lines of experience. Elias didn't say anything, but his gaze seemed to carry a silent warning—or perhaps a silent apology.

Rodrigo turned away before he could feel any more uncomfortable.

"Get in." The older officer's firm voice pulled him back to reality.

The black car waited in the parking lot. It was a simple model, with no obvious markings, but clearly official. Rodrigo opened the back door and slid inside, the cold leather upholstery pressing against his hands as he settled in.

From the back seat, he looked out the window. Dr. Elias was still standing at the entrance, watching him leave as if saying goodbye. Rodrigo swallowed hard and looked away again, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

The car began to move with a slight jerk, and Rodrigo could now see the city through the window. The streets were narrow and silent, lit by weak streetlights that illuminated empty sidewalks. Some houses and small buildings seemed to have been closed for hours, with Korean signs hanging on the facades.

The city had a provincial feel, like a place stuck in time. Further ahead, the lights began to fade, giving way to darker stretches where the overgrown vegetation took over. Dense trees formed uneven shadows, swaying slightly in the wind. Rodrigo watched the scene pass, a growing unease settling in his chest.

He leaned slightly forward to see the sky through the glass. There was no moon, only faint stars that seemed to watch everything in silence.

Rodrigo closed his eyes for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. He was still trying to accept everything—his appearance, his location, and the fact that he was headed to a police station in a country he barely knew.

When he opened his eyes again, the trees in the thicket seemed even denser, as if they were closing in around the car. Rodrigo wondered if this path would lead to any answers or just more questions.

In the front seat, the officers continued speaking in Korean, their voices now calmer, but Rodrigo didn't bother trying to understand. He simply rested his head against the cold glass, feeling the weight of fatigue settle on his shoulders.

As the car followed the narrow road, Rodrigo realized that, for the first time in a long while, he had no idea what would happen next.